


Letters from the Sky

by melanch0licpumpkin



Category: I Am Number Four (2011), The Lorien Legacies - All Media Types, The Lorien Legacies - Pittacus Lore
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, M/M, honestly don't know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 19:35:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20935595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melanch0licpumpkin/pseuds/melanch0licpumpkin
Summary: The war is over, and Earth is now safe, holding Lorien inside of it. Despite having won, John cannot find solace in the peace, his loss and guilt plaguing him. He is alive, but is he really living? How can he live with the loss? He would give anything to see his loved ones again, but that's not possible... Is it? This is M/ JohnxHenri





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little thing I wanted to do - bring Henri back and see where it goes. I know this pairing is probably a bit odd, but I really have a soft spot for it so I hope you enjoy!

Solitude can be crushing. Silence can become so loud, it's all that can be heard. Many people associated solitude and silence to be something akin to peace, and while that was a logical standpoint, John could not stand it. The world had been saved, and transformed into something of a Lorien successor, but at the same time, so many things were lost. There were so many things John failed to protect, and as punishment, he had to endure the silence upon his shoulders, holding it up with gritted teeth. Many saw him as a hero, someone to look up to. John only saw failure when he looked at his reflection, and it never stung any less. John thought that maybe staying in the cave Eight once found so comforting would cushion the blows, the reminders of all he had lost, but it seemed only to amplify them, bouncing off the cave walls, never slowing. He had to leave.

Finding a place to live was more difficult than he had anticipated, though it was not surprising. He had been the face of the Garde, the face people pictured the most when thinking back to the invasion of the Mogadorians, the one who saved them all. All of that notoriety made it hard to find a place where John could suffer in peace, and maybe even a little comfort. Finding a secluded cabin in the woods suited him just fine.

It had been two years since the defeat of the Mogs, and life had adapted quickly. John knew that there were many human Garde who needed guidance, but he wasn't the one to give it to them. He received invitations from Nine on a monthly basis to come and assume a role of a Cepan, but the mere thought made John's chest feel hollow and heavy at the same time, the memory of his own Cepan much too fresh. John knew that he would never be capable of filling the shoes of a Cepan, the bravest of the Loric. It just wasn't something John could offer, obviously. Everyone thought too highly of him, and he disliked being regarded as a hero; he was anything but.

Worst of all were the dreams. Slumber was not the escape many saw for themselves. John could not avoid his failures no matter if he was conscious or not. His dreams had always been jarring, and once upon a time, he thought there was nothing worse than having to relive the last moments of Lorien every night, He was wrong. While he had an occasional Loric nightmare, the events that occurred on Earth were what plagued him. People dying around him, people who fought alongside him, for him, his friends, the people he loved most, dying. Henri and Sarah, the two closest people to him, dying a horrific death because of him. It was all his fault, and no matter how many times the nightmares repeated themselves, they never hurt less. Their intensity was the only constant in his life now, ever present and always agonizing.

Thinking of Henri was a special kind of pain that never lessened, even as the years passed. It was hard to understand that time would continue regardless of Henri being gone, it didn't seem right. The hole left behind could never be filled, and John knew he would carry this emptiness with him for the rest of his life, and he still wasn't sure if he could cope with that fact. The last memories John had of Henri would haunt him forever. The hurt on his face when he realized John had lied, and the childish remark John followed it with, one that he could never forgive himself for. The last seconds of his life, his last words soothing John, absolving him of his mistakes. _"It's not your fault… Be strong,"_

_I can't, Henri. I'm not strong enough for this._

Thinking of Sarah hurt more than any other type of pain he had felt, and he had quite a bit of experience to compare. The image of her peaceful face, cancelled out once the blanket was pulled back to reveal the gaping wound that took her from him. The guilt was insurmountable, and her last words etched themselves into his brain, the sound of her last breaths, and how they were for him. The anger that gripped him when he thought of how it could have been different, how he should have been there to stitch her skin back together. How he should have protected her from the components that made up his life.

He was cursed. Becoming close to John was an automatic death sentence.


	2. Looking Like You Just Woke Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets a call from Malcolm that changes everything.

John rocketed through the sky, the surface below blurring as he kept his eyes squinted, the rushing air burning them. He couldn't remember the last time he pushed himself like this. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this kind of intense mixture of anxiety and confusion, his heart pounding against his chest, threatening to burst. He didn't have time to waste, and even though the thought of returning to Paradise usually filled him with an overwhelming sense of dread and guilt, it was where he was headed.

The day had started as any other would. The weather was typical for May in Pennsylvania, a perfect blend between sunshine and a cooling breeze. John woke up drenched in sweat, having braved through another short night of his dreams. Sleep never came easily, and the dreams were a guarantee. Being perpetually exhausted was something he was used to, but it still weighed on him. His phone was vibrating violently against the cheap wooden nightstand next to his bed. He contemplated letting it go, but the name of the caller was too unusual to blow off. Malcolm Goode almost never contacted him, and his sudden call made a twinge of nervousness travel through his chest. Had something happened to Sam? John grabbed the phone, thumbing the screen and putting it to his ear, "Hello?" He was almost startled by the vibration of his vocal cords. He hadn't used them in excess lately. Isolation did that.

"John?" Malcolm said his name as if he were out of breath. This couldn't be good.

"What's up? Is Sam okay?" John hadn't heard much from Sam since him and Six had decided to travel the world together, and secretly John had preferred it that way. He was happy for his friends, but the salt in his wounds hadn't entirely been flushed out.

"Sam? No, he's fine. I'm calling about something very… Well frankly I have no idea how to explain it, or what's even going on," Malcolm paused, but John said nothing. "Listen, this sounds crazy, I know, and I couldn't believe it, and still can't, but you need to come right away."

John furrowed his brow at this, comprehending the panic in Malcolm's voice, but having no idea what he could be talking about. "What's going on? Did you find something?" He asked, frustrated at having to beat around the bush. Malcolm breathed into the receiver, "It's more like something found me, John."

"Can you just tell me? What did you find?" John asked, his patience quickly running thin as his anxiety rose. Malcolm paused again, seemingly catching his breath before answering, "It's Henri, John."

John froze for a second, feeling numb all over, "What do you mean it's Henri? Henri's dead." The words fell heavily from his mouth.

"Yeah, I know. Except he just showed up on my front porch with no idea how he ended up there, and then he passed out on me. He's alive, right now, laying on my couch. John, I really don't know what else to tell you. You need to come here, right now."

\---

John almost crash landed in the Goode's front lawn, touching down running. Malcolm was already outside, sitting on the front steps leading up to his front patio, looking like he hadn't slept in days and was running on fumes. John staggered to a stop a few feet away, walking quickly to the man, "Malcolm," he addressed him, his voice sounding angrier than he meant, though that was the primary emotion bouncing around in his torso. John hadn't been around another person in a while, and remembering to cloak his emotions was coming slowly. Malcolm put his hands up as if he were surrendering as he stood. "John. I called Adam, he's agreed to come. We need to figure this out," he offered. The words hardly registered to John, stopping just inches from the older man. Malcolm looked at him with wide eyes, as if he weren't sure if he was about to get mowed down by the blond Loric.

"Show me," he said simply. There wasn't going to be any discussion or figuring out until he saw this with his own eyes. Malcolm hesitated before nodding, "He's just inside."

Malcolm led John into the modest structure, the living room looking outdated and neglected, though lived in. The floorboards creaked under their shoes, a dusty looking floral rug sitting in the center of the room under a coffee table crammed with various items, most of which were books, spare metal parts, and used plates. An old CRT television sat against the wall opposite the door, bookshelves lining the rest of the wall. On the shabby three seat couch laid an older man, his length showing how tall he was. His brown hair was graying at his temples, his eyelids fluttering gently. John stared at the man, a heavy feeling developing in his chest, and a lump forming in his throat. This was Henri. The exact Henri he had held in his arms as he died. John had watched the light go out in his eyes, and yet his breathing form laid there was if it had never left. John took a step closer to him, refusing to believe this was his Cepan. How could it be? John had seen him die. He had carried around his ashes through-out his journey two years ago. Henri was dead.

The memory flooded his brain before he could push it back.

_Henri on the ground, blood pooling underneath him, soaking into the fabric of his shirt. John holding him, the tears blurring his vision as his guardian took in shallow breaths as he spoke. "We've done all we could. And what's done is done. But I'm damn proud of you. You did amazing today. I always knew you would. There was never a doubt in my mind..." His voice was getting quieter, struggling to form words. John shook, unable to hold himself back from the agony flooding him. "I'm so sorry," John choked out, trying to will Henri not to die. Not Henri. Please, not Henri. "Shh, it's not your fault. Be strong." John could feel the sticky warmth of blood seeping through his sleeves as Henri took another shuddering breath. "I wouldn't have missed a second of it, kiddo. Not for all of Lorien. Not for the whole damn world." And then he was gone._

John felt wetness spring to his eyes, swallowing hard. This couldn't be Henri. How could it? This wasn't possible.

The man twitched on the couch, his arm moving from his side like he was about to lift it to his head, but it fell back onto the cushion. All of the air seemed to leave the room as the man opened his eyes slowly, turning his head in John's direction. He looked into his eyes, and his lips parted, "John," he croaked.

_Henri._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tweaked Henri's death scene a bit, but pulled direct lines from the text.


End file.
